What Undid The Divine
by Elliot Grace And Theories
Summary: Petra didn't know who her next door neighbour was until she heard him play the piano. Modern AU.


**Disclaimer: Don't own.**

 **Title: What Undid The Divine**

 **Rating: T**

 **Genre: Romance/Angst**

 **Pairing: Levi/Petra**

 **Summary: Petra didn't know who her next door neighbour was until she heard him play the piano. Modern AU.**

* * *

I didn't know who my next door neighbour was until I heard him play the piano. It was a composition I heard a week later, featured on a commercial for a musician who will be playing his music live for the first time in Dublin over the weekend. I didn't know what the composition was called, but the melody of it was familiar enough for me to be suspicious of its player. And sure enough, one night when I heard the notes on the piano, I risked a sneak out my window. And there he was. Levi Ackerman, playing in his living room. Heart thumping, I closed the curtain.

-X-

A week later was when I finally got to _meet_ him in person, after his concert in Dublin in which I was painfully aware of his empty house. I was returning from a Saturday morning jog, distracted with choosing a song on my iPod when I promptly knocked into somebody on the sidewalk.

The sound of crude profanity and bottles clattering to the ground and rustling trash bags filled my ears, and I looked down in horror. 'I'm so sorry! I wasn't —' but my apology fell short when I saw the face of Levi Ackerman, who glared at me.

'It's fine.' He replied curtly. 'Just look where you're going.'

He bent down to pick up the trash bag, and I dropped to my knees behind him, grabbing the empty cartons of juice and milk and water bottles. 'I'm sorry,' I repeated as I stood arms full.

'I said it's fine.' He dumped the trash bag into the bin across his lawn, and pulled open the lid of the recycle bin so she could throw the bottles out.

He nodded at me, and without so much as another word, walked back up his porch and into his house. In the four months that I'd lived next door to him that was the first time I'd seen him outside. He was regal yet shorter than he looked on television, his nose sharp and cheekbones defined. It was almost as though he belonged in the dim lighting of his living room, where his pale skin seemed to glow.

That night, I payed close attention to his piano playing, and it was truly beautiful. Every note was well thought out and played to perfection. It flowed with energy and the entire piece was powerful and moving. I fell asleep to the notes, and the last thing I remembered was the flashing 2:03am on the alarm clock.

-X-

I liked to think I was a humble person, but deep down, I knew I wasn't. Which is why I made a passionfruit butter cake the following weekend, and cut it into pieces before taking it to my next door neighbours. My mother always said caring is sharing, but I wasn't oblivious to my own flaws of flaunting my skills. To my right was Mr and Mrs Trifle, an elderly couple who were appreciative that I brought them dessert. To my left was Levi Ackerman, who I was anxious about seeing. Not necessarily because he was an intimidating person —he wasn't friendly either— but because I felt the need to impress him and a cake as another apology for knocking into him was the best I could do.

When he opened the door, eyes finding mine so quickly I was startled. I masked it fast enough. 'I brought some cake,' I said with a grin. 'As a peace offering. For my clumsiness last week.'

He looked mildly surprised as I handed him the platter. 'It's passionfruit.' I added, and suddenly my hands were clammy, because I was standing across from a musical prodigy who's seen more of the world than I could dream of, and whose talents far surpassed mine with food.

'Thank you,' he replied, a little awkward. There was a moment of silence where he seemed to be filtering through his brain for a more appropriate response. I didn't know what I was expecting, but I knew he wanted to say something. His manners were rusty is all.

'Would you like to come inside?' he asked. I was startled by his offering. That wasn't what I was expecting at all. It wasn't something he asked often, I realized, because he said uncomfortably, as though trying the words for the first time.

'Umm, sure. Thanks.' I smiled politely, and took off my shoes because I noticed his feet were bare except a pair of socks. Didn't want to annoy him the moment I stepped inside. His house was spacious and large, or maybe it was the lack of furniture that made it that way. He led me to his living room, the infamous holder of his piano that kept me awake at night, and told me to sit wherever I was comfortable. 'Would you like coffee or tea?' He asked as he took the cake to the adjoining kitchen. He set it down on the island.

'Coffee please,' I said.

He nodded and went about the kitchen preparing the mugs and turning on the kettle. 'I'm Levi,' he said, and I wondered why he was trying so hard to be civil when he was clearly struggling.

 _I know_ , I wanted to say to his words. 'I'm Petra. I moved in four months ago.'

'Oh I know,' he replied. 'The old tenant used to fucking complain about the music keeping him up at night all the time. I've yet to hear one from you, which I'm thankful for.' _Ah._ That explained a bit.

'What did he have to complain about? You're music is beautiful.' I stood and approached the piano, black and sleek in the corner of the room. I was hesitant to touch the keys, but my fingers skimmed over the top, noting the lack of dust.

'Your playing is amazing,' I confessed with a grin as I looked up. 'It's embarrassing to say I fall sleep to it every night.'

He ignored the compliment, pouring the kettle water into the coffee mugs. 'Milk?'

'No thanks.'

He carefully arranged the passionfruit cake onto plates, and I was hypnotized by the movement of his hands, the delicacy of his long fingers. They moved with refined elegance. In fact, all of him moved with refined elegance. His entire presence screamed sophisticated swan, and yet, he didn't come off as haughty.

I approached the island, taking the plates of cake as he carried the mugs to the coffee table.

'How was your concert in Dublin?'

'So you do know who I am.' He observed.

'It's hard not to know you're neighbour is famous when his music is everywhere,' I joked as I took a sip of coffee.

He chuckled. 'Dublin was good.'

'Did your fans go crazy?'

'Hardly.'

His responses were short, but not rude. Just vague. He was a man of little words. You wouldn't have a lot to say when the piano is your voice, I thought. I was acutely aware of the fact that he had taken a bite of the cake.

'So you played the piece you've been practising for the past few weeks? It sounds amazing, by the way.'

'You're very flattering.' He remarked flatly

'It's my forte,' I joked as I sipped again. 'So how does the cake taste?'

'Good. It's very impressive.'

'You're very flattering.'

He let out a snort, and I it was the first time I heard him sound humoured, and it was glorious. He wasn't used to socialising, that much I could tell, but his manners were respectful and practised. Or maybe it was the accent that made it seem that way. I wanted to ask him to play the piano, but couldn't find the courage. Instead, I indulged in his conversation. He was as closed off as I thought, and didn't give me information I didn't ask for. In turn he asked about myself. About my job, college life and funny childhood experiences.

When I returned home that night, I waited in bed for the familiar playing of the piano. It came at half past midnight, a piece I'd never heard before. It wasn't complete, I could tell, because he'd stop halfway, take a few minutes off and then start again. I presumed it was to write down the notes. But it was happy, almost peaceful. The hint of sadness or animosity that was often found in his other compositions was not there. I liked to think that it was because of me, but who was I to think that?

-X-

We saw each other again a few weeks later on a Thursday afternoon. I was returning from work and he from the local supermarket as he held plastic bags of ingredients in his hand.

'Hey,' I waved from my porch. 'What do you have cookin' tonight?'

'Nothing special, I'm afraid. Basic spaghetti and salad.' He paused a moment, but I didn't have to wonder what he was thinking because he added, 'do you want to join?'

It was the first night we ate together, but it wasn't the last. Because he invited me again, and again. And I invited him. Again and again. Within two months, I was at his place for dinner twice a week and him at mine. Sometimes it varied, depending on who had more ingredients in the pantry to throw together. Most times, it was him.

At first, I was sceptical as to why he was so quick to have me in his presence. I thought of multiple ulterior motives, but none seemed to fit. Eventually, I realized he was lonely, and even though he didn't like being around people, he liked some.

-X-

'Do you know how to play?' He asked one evening when I was flicking through his composition book, seated on the piano bench.

'No. All I can do is labelling the keys, really.'

He sat next to me, fingers ghosting over the keys as I spoke.

'Would you like me to play for you?'

'Only if you're willing to,' I replied, but I couldn't deny the excitement in my chest as he pressed down on a C. He played a few more notes, the sound resonating around us. 'This one is new. It's called 'The Stone.'

'I think I recognise it. You were working on it a while back.' The happy song. 'It's got an ironic name for such a lively composition.' I stated.

'You're observational skills are remarkable,' he said dryly. He played the notes distinctly, slowly, not in one full go. 'You're not going to play the whole thing?'

He must have heard the hopefulness in my tone because he raised his other hand, paused a moment as though to compose himself, and played. He played with power and control I could only dream of, possessed by unique skills unmatched by no other. His prodigal status could never be doubted, because Levi never made a mistake. Never stuttered. His flawlessness was his fault. Because no human could be his equal in anyway. And in a way, that was his vice. He suffered under a different kind of burden. The burden of perfection. And yet, he did not crumble.

-X-

'You're parents must be so proud of you,' I said a particular Saturday when he just finished playing.

'They would've been.'

'Would've?'

'They died in a car accident when I was nineteen.'

'Any siblings?'

'No.'

'Aunts? Unces? Cousins maybe?'

'None.'

'Do you have anyone?'

'I do.'

'Who?'

'You.'

-X-

It would be overly dramatic to say that tragedy struck soon after, because it wasn't a tragedy really. Just the day that Levi noticed that something wasn't right.

I heard him knocking on my door since it was his turn to come over for dinner, but my hands were soapy and wet from washing up the mess I made in the kitchen. 'The door's open!' I shouted, closing the tap so he could hear. I heard him try the handle, but it didn't open. Frowning, I wiped my hands on a nearby cloth. I could've sworn I had left it unlocked.

And sure enough, when I approached and tried the handle, it was. 'Are you playing with me?' I asked Levi, who looked annoyed. 'No. It was fucking locked.'

'No it wasn't.'

'I couldn't open it.'

We stared at each other for a moment, and although it felt like nothing, just a silly miscalculation of strength to use on a door handle, I didn't miss the slight concern in his eyes, his orbs glazing over.

'Dinner's almost ready, it just has to stay in the oven for ten more minutes.'

He regained focus and smiled. 'Sounds good.'

But I didn't miss his discomfort for the rest of the night. The way he flexed his wrists and stretched and clenched his fingers.

-X-

Two nights later, his playing faltered. It wasn't on purpose. I knew it wasn't on purpose because when it was, the playing stopped completely, suddenly. Mainly so he could stop and write the notes down. But no, this was not intentional. It was a sudden, clumsy playing that sounded like the slip of fingers across the keys. Like he lost control. But Levi never lost control. I sat up in bed in alarm, and without a care for the fact that it was one in the morning, I fumbled around for my phone and called him.

It rang three times before he answered.

'Hello.'

'Are you okay?'

A pause. 'What do you mean?'

'You're playing. It...faltered. You made a mistake.'

'So you heard it.' Was there a tinge of shame in his voice?

'Are you okay?'

Silence and then, 'I don't know.' It was then that I knew. That he was not as flawless as he thought he was. As I thought he was.

-X-

His performance in London got cancelled first because he kept messing up during practise. Didn't press the keys hard enough, pressed the wrong key, missed a key. His concert in Stockholm got cancelled second. And before he knew it, Levi's entire season was cancelled because there was no way he could play. Not like that.

I was the one who took him to the doctors, because eventually, even on good days, he couldn't drive for long.

-X-

'It's called the carpal tunnel syndrome. It's caused by compression of a major nerve where it passes over the carpal bones through a passage at the front of wrist.' The doctor showed us a diagram of the nerves, his pen drawing an invisible path over where the compression was happening.

'What is it caused by?' I asked, because Levi looked too numb, too stunned.

'Constant repetitive movements or fluid retention. In this case, Mr Ackerman, it is the way you play the piano. It is common in musicians.' From the corner of my eye, I saw Levi's hand twitch, and he clenched it against his knee. 'Is there a way to treat it?'

'There are a few. The simplest way is to avoid activities that cause it to happen.' The doctor paused when he noticed Levi tense. 'I understand that you may not be willing to do so, however.'

'What else?'

'Surgery, but if you continue to use your hands the way you have been until now, there is a likelihood it will return.'

Levi grimaced.

My stomach churned.

'I'll do it.'

'This isn't a light decision, Mr Ackerman. The surgery is no use if you do not change after your hands have healed.'

'I understand, Doctor. And I want the surgery.'

Silence overcame the small office, but it did not last as the doctor stood. 'I'll return with the paperwork.'

He exited the room, leaving us alone, and I glanced up at him. 'You'll be okay.'

He didn't reply.

I reached out for his hand and squeezed it reassuringly. He didn't squeeze back, his expression dark and grim, his eyes stony and cold.

But neither of us let go, even when the doctor returned with the paperwork.

He asked Levi questions, ticking off boxes and filling in empty spaces.

'This is incredibly unlikely, Mr Ackerman, but in case of a serious situation, who do you assign to be your guardian?'

I expected him to pause, like every other time he paused before speaking. Think about his response, collect his thoughts. He once told me it was because his crude language and rash behaviour was too much for his mother, who insisted he become a gentleman. The only way to heed her words was to rethink his every word before saying it aloud. But this time, there was no pause, no hesitation. 'Petra Ral.'

I looked up at him. He glanced back.

'Is that okay?'

He had no one. No parents, no siblings. He had no cousins or distant relatives. Hell, he barely had any friends. But he wasn't alone. Because he had me.

'Of course.'

-X-

I took a day off work for Levi's surgery. The operation itself wouldn't take long, the doctor said, and because it wasn't a big, he could be taken home on the day. He'd need someone to drive him home and make sure he didn't do anything to strain his hands. The symptoms were worse in his dominant right hand, but the surgery was performed on both. Meaning he had no hands for two weeks before the bandages came off.

'You've been a brave boy,' I cooed on the way home. He was in the passenger seat, eyes droopy still from the drugs, but the annoyance was evident in his tone. 'Don't fucking mock me.'

'I'm so proud of our little Levi,' I continued, taking a left turn. 'He's so brave.'

He simply grunted.

-X-

Recovery was slow but steady. He still had use over his fingers, so he didn't let me do anything for him more than clean his house and cook the food. When he wanted to shower, we wrapped his hands in plastic bags so the bandages wouldn't get wet. He refused any help regarding clothes and bathing, and although it was comical to see him struggle to put a shirt on when I came every morning to prepare his breakfast, I understood his pride. Beyond humiliation of being dressed like a doll, as he put it, he still needed control. He was robbed of it, and yet, he still needed to maintain some in order to keep his sanity. During dinners, his eyes often lingered towards his piano, and I knew he longed to sit on the bench, play the notes.

-X-

Two weeks later, his bandages were removed.

A month later, he was allowed to play again, if only for no longer than a half hour a day.

In three months, his hands had fully recovered.

In that time, I had never felt so connected to another human being. We did everything together, and whether he liked it or not, I did everything for him. I became his hands the way the piano had become his voice and never had I felt so needed, so useful. Like I had been graced with a purpose and Levi Ackerman was that purpose and my job was to help him. Not just during the times he couldn't use his hands, but for much longer after that.

But despite the returned full use of his hands, the doctor's words were to be heeded. Levi couldn't continue playing the way he used to. His physical therapist suggested movement retraining, and so he hired therapist specializing in helping musicians recover from physical traumas.

It was a slow progress as any, but Levi wasn't one to be deterred. Not even when the therapist told him that he may never play the way he used to.

'I will,' he replied fiercely. He had nothing else to believe in. It was his only hope.

He practised his movement retraining around the clock, his body screwed onto the piano bench whenever she visited. His determination was one she'd never seen before, and it slowly occurred to me that for all his talents and prodigal skills, for the entirety of his musical career, Levi Ackerman had everything except desire. Desire to play. And this experience, this ordeal had allowed him to reconnect with music in a way he hadn't in a long time.

It was one particular afternoon when he was flexing his hands after a full hour of playing that my heart hurt for him. He still had pain, permanent remnants reminding him that things could never go back to the way they used to be.

'You try so hard,' I murmured, sitting on the bench next to him. 'I'm not saying give up. You should never give up. But you don't have to push yourself so hard.'

'Don't you know, Petra?' he murmured back. 'If at first you don't succeed, try. Try again. Try harder.'

His fingers fell back on the keys, slowly playing 'The Stone'.

'My favourite.' I smiled.

'It was written for you.'

I looked up, confused.

'What?'

'You have your oblivious moments, you know. 'Stone' is the definition of your name in Greek.'

I stared, stunned.

'I'm writing a new composition. I've written it all down but I can't finish it until I've got this movement retraining out of the way. When it's complete, I'll name it something a little more obvious.'

'What did you have in mind?'

'I thought 'For Petra' was suitable enough.'

'Flattering as always.' I quipped, regaining myself.

His smile was small, but there. 'You've been with me this entire time. You never left. Everything I have is due to you, and for that I'm grateful.' He paused. 'When all this is over, when I'm finally working and well again, I'm taking you out to dinner.'

'Will it be a date?' I asked.

'You can bet your life that it fucking will be,' he grunted.

'Can't wait.' I kissed the corner of his mouth.

* * *

 _ **That's it folks! I know it isn't as mushy and fluffy as my usual ones, or even as romantic, but something about this piece hits deep with me since I suffer something similar to Levi's problem. It's not carpal tunnel, but I do get chronic pains in my hands and wrists, sometimes all the way up to my arm. So this fic is a little out of my comfort zone since I explored something I consider a vulnerability. But hopefully, you guys are okay with it.**_

 _ **Also, this was originally written for my English exam, meaning it's completely normal for the characters to be a little OOC, but oh well. I can kinda imagine Levi like this, if it's in a modern setting. Hopefully it wasn't too out of whack.**_

 _ **Let me know what you think**_

 _ **xx**_


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